


God Omens: The Nice and Accurate Methods to Merging Villages

by J_Anthony, JoyfulOmens (IDontHaveACleverQuip), MaddyTeddy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley can do interesting things with his tongue, GodOmens AU, Ineffable Writers Guild, M/M, Masturbating, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Naga!Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Snake Anatomy, Wing Kink, nonsensical time period, porn with a plot, they’re both idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Anthony/pseuds/J_Anthony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDontHaveACleverQuip/pseuds/JoyfulOmens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddyTeddy/pseuds/MaddyTeddy
Summary: All the citizens of Soho and Mayfair want is to combine their two villages into a single town. Sadly, their village gods are being rather difficult about the whole affair.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 102
Collections: Ineffable Writers Guild





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY 30th Anniversary Good Omens! We were worried we'd missed it then come to find out from Neil himself, the actual anniversary is the 10th, not the 1st, so not late! XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [Soleo Lion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleo_lion/pseuds/soleo_lion) and [The Jackalope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katieof0z/pseuds/The_jackalope) who started planning this project with us but had to step out shortly after due to real world obligations. And to [SugarMagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarMagic/) who helpfully beta'd this chapter!

The occasional soft rustling of turning pages were the only sounds in the room and Aziraphale relished it. He was free to enjoy his reading in peace and tranquility, here. Or at least, he was most of the time. 

A frown marred his face as he pretended to not hear his beautiful silence be interrupted by footsteps. He concentrated harder on one of the multiple books he was reading, until the unwanted interloper cleared their throat, forcing him to acknowledge their existence, lest he be considered _rude._ (Which just wouldn't do. Aziraphale was many things, but rude was not one of them.) That didn't stop the clear expression of annoyance in his many eyes as he looked down at the human who had _dared_ to disturb him after he had _just_ gotten comfortable with his books, a few glasses of wine and a charcuterie board on the coffee table next to his favorite chair.

Aziraphale lowered only a single novel from his many hands to address the intruder to his den of other men's books. It was a woman he knew far too well. 

"Can I help you with something?" He questioned, with false nicety, "Is someone sick, or is there flooding or fires? Are people dying in the streets?" His voice grew more impatient as with each question the woman indicated a negative with a slight shake of the head. "Then tell me, what could be so important that you had to disturb me, Madame Tracy?" 

The High Priestess, Madame Tracy, regarded her slothful god. "It's about the request of the people, deary. They want Soho to join with Mayfair. You've been putting them off for _years_ now. Things have just been getting harder on them."

As she made the age old request, Aziraphale’s face passed through a veritable rainbow of expressions, pausing a moment each at confusion, arousal, and fear, before the air began to vibrate around him. "How dare you even _remotely_ think about it!" His words echoed off the walls of the temple and throughout the room. The Priestess winced but regained her courage and spoke again. 

"But–" 

"NO! I refuse to even _consider_ it, absolutely not, period!"

Tracy sighed and bowed her head. "Right, of course. Sorry for the intrusion, luv."

Aziraphale watched his High Priestess leave the temple grounds and bit his lip. Almost hesitantly, he slipped off his comfortable chair and went to the entrance portal, his white robe blowing wildly through the air. He allowed his gaze to wander out over his own village of Soho and towards the neighboring village of Mayfair. His white wings fluttered restlessly behind him as he thought about the state of Soho’s economy, _Did I really do the right thing?_

He knew refusing every year was seen as selfish by his people, but a merger wasn’t just two gods _shaking hands_ , agreeing and parting ways again. Not that the humans seemed to understand that part. 

Oh, how he yearned and fantasized about Mayfair’s god, imagining what the Naga could do to him, _with_ him. And on occasion what _he_ would do if given the chance. Just the thought of the other god’s tail wrapped around his thick thighs, fangs digging into flesh and each of his cavities penetrated, feeling so full and complete, made his arousal spike and send shivers through his entire body, concentrating in his own dick. 

Aziraphale also knew himself, he was a soft god and couldn’t imagine being very attractive to such a divine creature. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , face the obvious rejection he just _knew_ would occur if he agreed to Soho’s demands to merge with Mayfair. After all, if Mayfair’s god had been at all interested, wouldn’t Aziraphale have received a proposition from their village the first year this started? With that reassurance in mind, Aziraphale nodded and settled back into his chair, prepared to spend another year thirsting from afar, for the god named Crowley. 

– 

At the same time, in the temple in Mayfair, the naga god on Aziraphale’s mind was slouching in his throne, a glass of wine in hand. There were several empty bottles scattered on the floor around his tail. Absentmindedly, he waved the glass with the red liquid and ignored the piddly requests of his people. A miserably long queue had formed throughout the temple and down its steps. Practically half the town must've been there, begging for one divine miracle or another. A rough voice interrupted the latest request and pulled Crowley out of his thoughts.

“Arright, time’s up! Out wit yer lot!” The High Priest shouted as his sidekick (a twiggy young man named Newton) ushered people out of the throne room. Crowley let out a sigh of relief and turned to the man he knew too well.

“Well, well. High Priest Shadwell...and the little mouse! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Crowley sipped his wine and twined his massive coils around his throne, flicking the end of his tail in curiosity. His scales reflected the light from the torches, giving the illusion that it was his serpent tail itself which was on fire. 

Any other day, Shadwell would start cursing up a storm, calling his god everything shy of a two-faced snake, so Crowley knew something was definitely up when instead of yelling and ridiculous name calling, Shadwell removed his hat and asked in his most demure, ass-kissing tone, "Ah, the villagers, m’ lordship. The year has been none to kind to them. They want ye ta join us with Soho."

Crowley tensed, his slit pupils expanded in excitement before narrowing again in trepidation, and he bared his fangs. "Why the hell would I do a thing like that?" he leaned forward at these words, his voice changing to a hiss. 

“Well, fer starters–” Shadwell began, ignoring the palpable terror of his bespectacled apprentice, who had remained quietly by his side after shooing the villagers away. 

Crowley arose from his throne and erected himself to his full size, the tip of his tail trembled in warning. "Leave,” he hissed venomously, “Now, or I'll send the both of you straight to the Netherrealm, and you can trust me, you _don't_ wanna go there." 

While his intimidation tactic would work brilliantly on any other human, Shadwell was too experienced with Crowley’s outbursts to react. Normally Shadwell’s uncaring demeanor amused him, but right now the god wanted nothing more than to end this encounter before Shadwell said something that Crowley couldn’t bluff his way out of. 

Shadwell huffed and acquiesced with no small amount of sarcasm. “Would nae know bout that, ya filthy demon,” he said to no one in particular while walking away. Newt, who was not immune to Crowley's scare tactics, followed quickly behind his mentor.

They walked through a long hallway and into a sideroom, where Newt quickly rushed to make some tea (nine sugars and sweetened milk) for the High Priest. The room was sparsely furnished with very little light and scraps of paper, matches and other oddities all around. It was quite the mess. They both sat at a rickety wooden table Shadwell had refused countless times to replace and held their cups unable to trust the table not to buckle under the weight of both of them. 

Newt broke the silence first. “Well, sir, what do we do now?”

“Nae much t’do, is there laddie, ‘cept ask again when his royal pain in the arse is in a better mood. We’ve begged ‘n pleaded in the past, but he refuses t’look past how much wine he needs an’ actually help the people of this village.” Shadwell chugged over half of his tea and slammed it onto the table, startling Newt as it rocked and threatened to collapse.

“Um. High Priest Shadwell, do we know why he and Soho’s god won’t merge? I mean...Seems a little silly, refusing for so many years, doesn’t it? Is there– Do we even need to ask them? We just want to join land and economies, are the gods _really_ so territorial they have to agree to share a village?”

“‘Parently they are,” Shadwell sneered, as he pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and poured a little something extra into his half finished tea. 

Newt frowned and took a sip of his own, not-spiked drink, as he thought about it. “They just have to agree to it, right?” He took a glance at Shadwell’s quickly emptying teacup and considered the amount of alcohol Crowley drank on a regular basis. “Do you think we could get him drunk?”

The High Priest snorted and almost choked on his last swallow in the process. “Have ye seen how much he drinks? We’d keel over before he even got tipsy!” 

“Hmm..." Newt pondered some more, staring vacantly into his teacup as if it would tell him the secrets of the universe. “I had another thought.” 

"Did ye now?"

Newt ignored Shadwell's sarcasm, or perhaps missed it altogether. "Well, our, er, mighty lord did seem to enjoy it the last time we had a festival." 

"Aye, he did."

"So, what if we hold one together with Soho? Invite both of the gods to attend. Say it’s in their honor! Then they’ll _have_ to meet!"

“He’ll nae accept.” Shadwell said, while pondering the idea all the same.

“But if we _don't_ ask him... I mean...just tell him there will be plenty to drink, right?” Newt tried to sip from his tea only to breath it in by mistake and found himself choking on it.

“Yer suggesting we… _lie_ to our gods?” Shadwell asked, as he gave Newton the stink eye so the boy knew it was the most ridiculous idea known to man. 

“No! Yes... Maybe,” Newt sighed and stared into his cup for courage. “We don’t have to lie. Just not tell them the whole truth?” 

Shadwell paused and considered this. Crowley loved his wines, it wouldn't be hard to casually mention a festival enough to catch his interest. Especially with Soho being known for their high quality vintages. "Eugh, I'll have ta speak to the harlot, but we'll see what we can do."

"Oh? Oh! That's great! I'll um, pass the word along for a meeting, shall I?"

They shared a look, nodded in agreement and left the room to put their plan into action.

– 

Meanwhile, in the village of Soho, Aziraphale was on a casual stroll through the marketplace. Of course, casually for Aziraphale meant with all extra arms and eyes hidden so as not to frighten the common villagers. His wings, of course, remained out. It would be a cold day in the Netherrealm before he would hide his wings in his own village. His people knew better by now than to try grabbing his soft feathers, as many a poor soul had been smote by his hand for daring to attempt sinking their fingers into them.

It was late afternoon and the village was alive with activity. Children ran about laughing, adults carried goods and loudly bartered market prices. 

While his appearance was much closer to the humans around him, Aziraphale still stood out in his divinity. He wore a white robe that washed his legs like waves with every step. While his wings, large and majestic, fluttered occasionally with his interest in what he saw, a rainbow of iridescence shimmering over each snow white feather as the sun hit them. A warm glow surrounded his form, expressing his mood and exuding comfort into all who gazed upon him. 

Despite being known for his sloth and gluttony, Aziraphale was still quite beloved by the villagers. The humans appreciated his powers and good deeds, and everyone took the time to stop, smile and wave to him as he passed like the many times he had wandered the village market in the past.

That was why it drew his attention so quickly when he noticed a trio of young villagers chattering animatedly between themselves, taking no notice of Aziraphale as he approached. Not used to going unnoticed, Aziraphale couldn’t help listening in to the conversation.

“They really think they’re going to get away with that?”

“Well, why wouldn’t they? Who doesn’t love a festival? Certainly not the gods.”

“Still! It feels a little…” The first speaker, a boy, gesturing with a handwiggle, expression looking grim.

“Oh come off it, Wensley!" A girl answered with no short amount of snark. "It’ll be fun! If nothing else, we could use a reason to celebrate! Even if it is just a-” 

“MY LORD!” The third human, another boy in the group interjected boisterously as he noticed Aziraphale. “What brings you to the marketplace today?” The other two humans stiffened and turned to face Aziraphale with guilty looks. 

Naturally, Aziraphale had to ask what all the fuss was about. It wouldn’t do to remain curious and out of the know in his own village, would it? “Well, I just so happened to be enjoying a brisk walk when I came upon your curious conversation.” The three humans tensed further, to the degree that the deity could notice fear in the air. “What’s this I hear about a festival? I had thought there wouldn't be one held until the harvest, and there has been much talk of canceling it with the recent hardships.” 

“Er. Yeah. Uh.”

“The High Priest of Mayfair made a visit!” 

“Really, Wensley?”

“I’m not lying to a god!” The one known as Wensley hissed back, sticking to his scruples.

Aziraphale nodded. It wasn’t unusual for Shadwell to pay Tracy a visit. The two seemed to get on quite well...somehow. He wouldn’t pretend to understand them. “And this has you all whispering about festivals, _because_?”

“Both Soho and Mayfair have been stagnating, my lord.” The brave one spoke up. “There’s been talk of holding a joint festival between the two villages to strengthen trade, since we can’t merge into one town.”

“I see,” Aziraphale huffed, his cheeks pinkening slightly at the mention of merging again. He wasn’t exactly pleased with this idea, especially since Tracy had gone behind his back about it. But he couldn’t fault the humans for wishing to improve their lives and… and it would give him a closer look at Mayfair’s god, wouldn’t it? His face darkened into a full on blush. “I see, sounds wonderful, best be off then, much to do. Preparations and all.” He waved the humans farewell, and hurried on his way. Goodness, even without merging involved, Aziraphale felt his unnecessary pulse quicken. How on earth could he be expected to sit near the other god (as would be expected and proper) without making a complete fool of himself?

–

Back in Mayfair, in his temple, a bored Crowley was hanging off his throne. Without a glass of wine, the daily routine was almost unbearable for him. He was staring into the void once more, lost in thoughts of his godly neighbor as he played with some empty wine bottles with his tail when Shadwell shuffled in noisily and tore him out of his thoughts. 

“Aight, ya great scaled bastard,” he groused as a greeting. “Since ye won’t be reasonable any year soon, we be holdin’ a joint festival with the village of Soho.”

“What? No! No, no no way, not a chance! I never approved of this,” Crowley exclaimed shocked, sitting up straighter on his throne. He absolutely _despised_ the idea. A joint festival meant he would have to _meet_ the god from Soho. Aziraphale and he would actually have to _meet. In person._ And he would have to stop yearning from a safe distance. “No!”

“Aye. Since yer selfish, gracious arse refuses t’merge, this is the least we can do to ensure prosperity.”

“Prosperity, you say?” Crowley repeated and snaked his tail closer towards the throne. He knew that his town could use some, they’d seen better times and maybe this festival would at least give them a brighter outlook and make them leave him alone about the merge for a bit. He would also get to _meet_ Aziraphale, however inherently terrifying that concept was. He growled to hide the stuttering nonsense sounds he knew he’d be making otherwise, before getting a better hold on his forked tongue. “Alright, _just_ this once. For er- the villagers. To please them.” 

“Pleasure talkin' with ya, ye rank clay-brained flap dragon.” Shadwell nodded with a smirk knowing he’d won, like he usually did on most things except the merge concept, before excusing himself from the temple. He had a festival to bring about, and no time like the present! 

Meanwhile, Crowley was left alone once again. He coiled around his throne with anxiety and anticipation. This was good, right? Fantastic, really! But at the same time this was terrible! He’d made a point of never meeting Aziraphale before, only even knew the other god’s name thanks to Shadwell harassing him about merging in the past. Oh, if that stupid man had even a _clue_ of what he was implying the villages wanted from their gods...

“Honestly. _As if_ we could ever! I’m…” Crowley took a moment to examine himself. Long claws like blades, longer ginger hair in cascading waves, even longer black scaled serpent’s tail replacing what a human would have for a lower body, with blood red belly scales. All of him lean and bony, a literal noodle, he was. The naga god hissed in displeasure and flipped to slump against his throne dramatically. “Ngk… And he’s literally heaven incarnate.”

Crowley’s mind lingered on the bits of Aziraphale he’d observed from afar. Endless kindness, with a streak of gluttony and selfishness, soft curves and a beautiful aura reflected in his blindingly white wings the serpent could see from miles away. 

His thoughts slowly drifted and took an unexpected but pleasant turn in his head. He’d learned from the skittish mouse, Newton, that Aziraphale was a terrifying being with many eyes and arms. Of course, Newton was terrified of everything, so Crowley could hardly put stock into the boys fears, but those hands? Were it true that Aziraphale had so many eyes with which he could gaze upon Crowley, and with such hands could rest upon his scales. The serpent shivered at the mere thought of it. 

He let his hands wander over the expanse of his scales, which felt pleasantly cool to the touch. The red of his underbelly was even more sensitive with his thoughts lingering on the other god and he shuddered with longing as he slowly dragged his claws over them. 

With a little more emphasis, he started massaging his slim body and a drawn out hiss slipped from his lips. In his mind, he could let himself believe his long clawed fingers were replaced with the soft, pudgy hands he imagined his Aziraphale would have. Crowley didn't even try to resist thoughts of the other god and gave himself more and more over into his feelings and lust.

With practiced movements, his fingers delicately found the slit in his scales, rubbing along the edges before easing in between the folds of flesh, feeling the heads of the two dicks that rose eagerly to meet him. He closed his eyes when he wrapped a hand around each and started to drag them slowly up to the tips and down again, biting on his lip at the sensation. 

What would it be like if _he_ would touch him there like this? Crowley hissed again when he imagined the countless hands slowly running over his scaly body and dicks, leaving searing trails in their wake, while he could feel the others' erection pressed longing against his body. With a quick miracle he slicked his hands and started to fuck his fists in earnest, picking up a steady rhythm. He coiled his tail tighter around his chair as a grounding. Like it was his prey, or more in tune with his fantasy, like it was Aziraphale.

The thought of those countless eyes watching him come undone was enough to nearly send him over the edge. But not yet. He wanted more, _needed_ more. His imagination was certain to be as close as he would ever get to the other god and he needed it to last, or else he feared what he might do when meeting Aziraphale face to face. Oh, he couldn't risk that!

His hips started to buck up to meet his fists as he increased his pace, eyes screwed shut. All too soon, Crowley shuddered as he came, soiling his hands and belly, his mind lingering on the desire he felt for the other god through the final spurts of his climax. 

As his thoughts returned from the fog, the events leading to this returned to him. The festival… he hadn’t bothered to ask when it would be, but Shadwell seemed to have already had it underway when he’d been told. Hopefully that little act of self-fulfillment was enough to tide him over for the looming encounter. Still…Crowley could feel the lust and longing swirling just under the surface. Perhaps it would be a good idea if he went a few more rounds before then. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was meant to be a oneshot. Then Joy started plotting and it got a bit longer. Current layout is for 3 chapters total! Hoping to post one a week but with the corona stuff still going on it might be a bit longer, hope you enjoy it all the same! Project Doc link will be shared once the entire fic is posted!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The festival! The festival!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Called it! Real life reared it's ugly head and made us have to postpone editing this chapter but it is done! Woot~!

The festival came together far more quickly than either god expected. Within a few days of them finding out about the event, a multitude of booths and activities had seemingly sprung up in the fields between Mayfair and Soho. Now it was time and the previously empty booths had come alive with humans from both villages intermingling as one.

Crowley sauntered through the festival, remembering why he rarely gave up his tail for the facade of human legs as his odd human-ish hips pivoted freely with every step. He felt absolutely ridiculous like this, but with the way the booths had been set up it would have been impossible for him to traverse the venue normally without knocking something over at every turn. That would be far more embarrassing than just walking like a newborn giraffe. At least he’d kept his wings out; a quick flap or shift of his feathers kept him from toppling over on more than one occasion already.

Crowley paused on his journey through the booths to observe a gaggle of ducks quacking irritably at him. Silly looking things, weren't they? A rather brave drake unexpectedly charged at him, causing him to step back and stumble yet again. 

Ugh, stupid ducks. He needed to sit down. Maybe he shouldn’t have run off ahead of Shadwell, but he couldn’t help the nerves that were eating him alive. Today was the day he met _Aziraphale_. After far too many wanks to count he still wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle seeing the other face to face. 

“O-oh! I found him! High Priest Shadwell! He’s with the ducks!” 

Crowley groaned, maybe Newton wasn’t a mouse. Maybe he was a _rat_. Shadwell was on him in seconds, chewing him out in that indecipherable drawl of his while he escorted the god of Mayfair to the center of the festivities, where a dias had been erected for the two gods to sit and feast together among their people.

“Ya haggard nut-hook! Ya can't jis go runnin' off–” Shadwell continued chewing Crowley out with his colorful insults, but the god had tuned him out already because– oh _heaven’s_. Just on the other side of the dias, being led by a spunky girl, and an elderly woman that was probably Madame Tracy, there _he_ was.

Crowley felt his already wobbly legs attempt to give out under him as the feeling of Aziraphale’s aura so close to his made him weak with longing. He definitely hadn’t wanked enough.

–

Aziraphale dragged his feet on the way to the festival. He’d managed to work himself up into a tizzy over the whole ordeal and now had to be almost literally dragged towards the festivities by Madame Tracy and her young ward, Anathema.

“Really, my dears, it’s no trouble whatsoever! I don’t have to be there for you all to celebrate,” Aziraphale tried to insist but was met with unwavering stubbornness from both women. 

“Oh, Mr. Aziraphale, you know that’s not true!” Tracy insisted in her peppiest tone of voice. “We haven’t much to celebrate without _you_ there, after all.”

“That’s right. Can’t celebrate our gods without the gods being there, can we?” Anathema pitched in smugly and Aziraphale couldn’t help the sneaky suspicion that they were up to something. Anathema was more of a psychic warrior than a gossipy woman, she was _never_ peppy!

Unfortunately, while trying to convince them he didn’t need to attend, Aziraphale had been successfully led to the edges of the festival. Upon getting the faintest whiff of cooking food, the women knew they had won. 

“Oh my! Why, I haven't smelled something so scrumptious since… Goodness when did you last have a festival?”

“Not been much to celebrate the last few years, luv.” Tracy told him with a sage nod. 

“Oh. Well, far be it for me to stop you, of course. I’ll just... go sample some of the fair, shall I?”

“Oh no you won’t!” Anathema scolded, startling Aziraphale as she grabbed one of the only two arms he had on display at the moment, having once again taken his more human form to attend the festival in the first place. “Come on, we have a special seating arrangement _just_ for you. We’ll bring you _anything_ you want to eat, doesn’t that sound nice?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but think she was hiding malicious intent directed at him, but…well, he did like the sound of that.

At least she hadn’t grabbed his wings, his mind supplied helpfully as he was escorted through the booths. He was already on edge enough knowing that Mayfair’s god would be in attendance, he didn’t need for anyone to grab him in such a sensitive, erogenous spot on top of that. 

Aziraphale's concerns only increased as they guided him further into the heart of the festival. Lord, he could feel Crowley's aura so much more the closer they got to wherever Anathema and Tracy were leading him.

“Wait…” 

Aziraphale tensed and made to jerk his arm out of Anathema’s grasp, but for a mortal woman she was incredibly strong. 

“It’s just right up there, _my lord_.” 

“Ah, no no! I’m fine! This is perfectly fine as it is, I can collect my own offerings, really, no trou-BLE!”

Aziraphale yelped as he was shoved forward, stumbling up onto the dias and towards the dining table and two seats sitting side by side. That’s when he noticed _him_.

“O-oh…Um. Hello.”

–

Crowley swallowed roughly. This was it. It was really happening. The god of Soho was talking to him. _Aziraphale_ was talking to him. Oh shit, so many years he’d gone out of his way to prevent this meeting and now Crowley couldn’t wrap his head around why.

Crowley's eyes met Aziraphale's and time seemed to stop. The entire flow of the festival; the music, the conversations people around them were having, it all became muffled and unimportant for that one glorious moment. Then Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably and Crowley realized he was staring. He averted his eyes and darted them quickly over the white robes Aziraphale wore instead. It covered up too much for Crowley’s taste. 

_Wait! Shit! Don't just stand here like a loon!_

"Ngk, er— well, yeah... Hi!" Crowley cringed. That was terrible, but he'd managed to pull himself together enough to speak at least.

Aziraphale continued to stand there awkwardly staring at him, yet looking so very divine even in a human-ish appearance. He opened his mouth as if to speak but then thought better of it and began to fidget with his robes.

Crowley found himself endeared immediately, his facsimile of a heart palpitating in time with Aziraphale’s fidgeting. "So uhm... looks like we’re ah... sitting together? Er. If you want to, that is? The wine is excellent by the way, your winemakers did a marvelous job. Really love wine, me." 

Aziraphale blinked at the strange tangent and couldn’t help a soft chuckle. “Yes, the wine is quite good.” He cleared his throat and shifted slightly towards the table, still at odds with himself over the meeting. He’d prevented an encounter with Crowley for so long, who knows what could happen now? “I...don’t suppose it would hurt to be sitting next to each other. The villagers worked so hard to put all of this together. Would be a shame to waste it.” Aziraphale continued as much to convince himself as the serpentine god before him.

“Right! Right, of course!” Crowley scrambled further onto the dias, nearly tripping over his stupid scaley feet in the process. Stupid human legs, what he wouldn’t give for his tail right now! Then Aziraphale chuckled at his stumbling and Crowley decided he would wear human legs a thousand years over if he could keep hearing such a beautiful sound. 

The naga god donned what he hoped was a debonair smile, exposing a single fang as he slid out the seat closest to Aziraphale. “Care to join me, then?”

Aziraphale’s face lit up in a blush as he smiled and gave a happy wiggle as he seated himself. 

_Adorable_. Crowley practically threw himself in the other chair afterwards. He tried to remind himself that he’d been avoiding this god for a _reason_ , but it was doing little to curb his excitement and flat out swooning at the plump figure by his side. They both had their wings out, Aziraphale's soft white was a stark contrast to Crowley's deep black. Crowley had a hard time not staring at the way the fabric stretched around the other’s legs indecently and wanted nothing more than to bury his face into those plush thighs. 

The two sat awkwardly for a moment, unable to fully process the current situation. “Um.. Should we… introduce ourselves?” Aziraphale asked, his hands having returned to fidgeting once again.

“Do we need to?”

“Er. No, I suppose not…” 

They were gods after all. Neighbors for years to boot. It would’ve been insulting if they didn’t at least know each other's names by now, even if they’d managed to never meet face to face.

The table had already been filled with an assortment of the festival’s best food and two large goblets of wine, one of which Crowley was quick to snatch up when the awkward silence became too much for him to bear. 

“Let’s toast then, shall we?” 

Aziraphale startled as Crowley’s cup was shoved in his face momentarily. “Oh, ah. What to?” He asked, picking up his own cup.

Crowley froze as he realized he hadn’t thought this plan through. “Uh. To the festival! And the extraordinary amounts of alcohol these humans will provide!” With those words, Crowley raised his glass with a dodgy smile.

Aziraphale looked confused at the odd toast, but smiled and clinked his glass with Crowley’s anyway. “To the wine.” 

Crowley, the nervous mess that he was, emptied his glass all at once and refilled it straight away, earning him an impressed look from Soho’s god. Despite what Crowley led his people to believe, he was actually quite a lightweight with his alcohol. He enjoyed the feeling of being buzzed or completely plastered, and so never felt a need to do away with it. It was just that he tended to be a bit tipsy most of the time, to the point even Shadwell had been convinced that was his normal way of acting.

“Really do like the wine, I see.” Aziraphale smirked and instead sipped primly from his glass. He recognized this year from the look and smell and knew it to be a particularly potent batch. It was also one he preferred to savor, rather than rush through for the sake of getting drunk. 

Crowley couldn’t stifle another undignified “ngk” almost choking on his next drink as the angelic god sipped his wine with a pleased moan and a flutter of his fluffy wings. 

Crowley wished he could be the wine on Aziraphale’s lips and licked his own in anticipation. _What do his lips taste like? How I would love to taste and explore the rest of him too._ Crowley managed a smirk at Aziraphale and refilled his empty glass, trying very hard _not_ to look at how the white robes emphasized Aziraphale’s body whenever he moved. 

“This just looks ever so scrumptious, doesn't it?” Aziraphale remarked, his eyes on the food in front of him as he inhaled deeply. 

“It sure does,” Crowley murmured, eyes never straying from Aziraphale.

As if feeling the eyes on him, Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, causing the naga god to rapidly turn back to the table, shifting nervously in his chair. With that movement, their wings accidentally brushed together, sending an electric pulse through both god's bodys.

“Oh! So sorry.”

“Ssssorry.”

They both spoke simultaneously.

“Er… I suppose we ought to try the food, now.” Aziraphale stated awkwardly, deciding to pretend the literally feather light touch hadn't occurred at all. 

“Right. Food.” Crowley felt like his yellow slitted eyes could pop right out of their sockets at this point. He eyed the food, not feeling particularly hungry for this kind of sustenance, but lifted up his fork to poke it around anyway. 

It was then he heard the most decadent sound in the world. Aziraphale moaned. Not just a little moan, like the one he gave when tasting the wine, but much louder and accompanied by a happy full body wiggle. Aziraphale's eyes were closed in heated bliss as he pulled a now clean fork out from between plush lips. 

Crowley downed half of his second glass of wine, eyes locked firmly on his fellow god. While he’d never found much interest in food before, he was starting to see the appeal. The sound and sight of Aziraphale indulging in the festival food went straight to Crowley's groin. 

Crowley quickly found himself sliding more food to Aziraphale’s side of the table, and downing wine like his life depended on it.

The alcohol made him feel bolder, and he stretched his dark wings just the tiniest bit so they would brush against the white ones next to him, chasing the sensation that would bolt through him when they touched. He enjoyed the way Aziraphale responded and the reactions grew stronger each time. 

With another intentional brush, Aziraphale turned to him, his blue eyes glowing and his jaw clenched. There were a lot of mixed signals in the way he stared at Crowley. 

“If you do that one more time, I’ll-” he tried to warn Crowley but didn’t finish his sentence. 

“You’ll _what_ , Aziraphale?” Crowley hissed. He wiggled his eyebrows and licked over his bottom lip with his forked tongue eager for the other god’s answer.

Aziraphale imagined just how _long_ that tongue might be, all the places he could _reach_ and things he could _do_ with it. When Crowley brushed their wings together once more, this time with much more force, his self restraint snapped. 

With a swift movement Aziraphale spun around, grabbing the golden ornate chains that hung loose around Crowley’s lean neck, and yanked Mayfair’s god towards him. 

Crowley lost balance at the sudden movement and gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders to steady himself, his serpentine eyes looking shocked. Aziraphale’s heart raced. Their faces were just inches apart, eyes locked. They could feel each other’s breath gliding against their respective lips. Neither of them were certain who moved first but before they could register what was happening, Crowley and Aziraphale had crushed their lips together in a messy, needy kiss. 

The naga god moved closer and planted his wobbly legs on the sides of the chair Aziraphale had remained sitting in, an unskilled attempt at straddling his lap. The kiss continued in the way that only beings who didn’t require breath could manage. The savory flavours of wine mixed with the sweetness of desserts in their kiss and elicited a small moan from Aziraphale. 

“Get a room already!” The abrupt shout from Anathema had both gods startling enough to pull out of their kiss. 

Crowley blinked up at Aziraphale in a daze while Aziraphale spared a glaring pout at Tracy’s apprentice. She could have at least allowed them to finish. But Aziraphale had to acquiesce, they _were_ still at the festival, surrounded by civilians and children. 

Crowley seemed to gather enough sense to understand their predicament. “My place or yours?” he asked, breathlessly stealing another kiss from Aziraphale’s lips. He had pined for far too long to resist this temptation anymore now that it was before him and willing.

“Yours,“ Aziraphale gasped, startled by the intimacy of the smaller kiss. ”Yours will do fine. Mine is er- _not available_ at the moment...” he grinned sheepishly, thinking of how every surface in his temple was covered in books he would rather not have damaged in the heat of things. 

“Alright then, my place.” 

Without caring what their respective high priest and priestess would think, Crowley gave a sharp snap and the two gods vanished from sight.

_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know. All that waiting and there's not even smut! Rest assured the next and final chapter of this story is RIFE with it! I'm not making promisses for the completion time of it because lord knows what's going to happen from one day to the next.


End file.
